


Rite of Passage

by sunkelles



Series: Mirialan! Ezra [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: But I'm gonna publish it anyway, Culturally significant tattoos, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, I don't know if anyone in the world will like this except for me, Kanan's not blind yet, Mirialan! Ezra, Set during/after the episode "Always Two There Are", Species Swap, that storm's still yet to come, woohoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 18:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Mirialans, getting their facial tattoos signifies their passage into adulthood, while there is a social stigma placed on not getting them after you turn fourteen. Ezra is fifteen years old and his face is still blank. </p><p>or, the one where I unnecessarily create an entire au with a good deal of world-building because I want to write a specific scene where the space family bonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Passage

**Author's Note:**

> this is rated g, but beware kids, here there be a few swears. also, warnings for a made up insult that should never be used in polite company, and seventh sister being as uncomfortably friendly with ezra as in the show. (i mean she's a sexual predator and it makes me uncomfortable)
> 
> vaguely inspired by the "mother, master" arc in the webcomic, constrasts. the whole comic focuses on barriss, ahsoka, and their relationship (GAY GAY GAY), but this particular arc focuses a little on barriss, luminara, and some bits about mirialan culture, particularly their facial tattoos. my take on it is p different, but i thought that i should point out that that, along with a tumblr post speculating that mira bridger was mirialan, was my inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> LINK TO CONTRASTS http://contrasts-comic.tumblr.com/post/127152069671/c-careful-where-youre-pointing-that-thing

This was supposed to be a routine mission. There weren't supposed to any sentients, let alone any _inquisitors_ at that base, and Ezra certainly wasn't supposed to get captured.

 

But the Force works in mysterious ways, and Ezra manages to save Sabine before she gets herself captured along with him, so that’s something. It has to be worth something, right? Until, of course, they decide to use him as bait to catch her and Zeb. He feels a little less alright about that, and he doesn't feel alright about the probes holding him to the wall at all. The inquisitor releases most of her probes, except for one holding his shoulder, and then she leans in close.

“You and I are going to have a talk,” she says in her mechanical voice, somehow patronizing and seductive all at once. She brushes a bit of hair out of his face, and he desperately tries to pull away.

“And if you’re good,” she says, gently caressing his cheek in a mockery of affection, “maybe some of your friends will survive.” She laughs then, a cool, mechanical sound, as she drags him down the corridor. She shoves him against an old, beaten down control panel in the middle of the room and perches on top of it like a predator surveying her territory. The entire situation puts knots in Ezra’s stomach. He’s been captured before, but he always ended up in jail. This was somehow much worse than that, more _intimate,_ with fewer ways to escape. She crawls down and leans to face him at his level.

“You handle a lightsaber well, apprentice,” she says, “it’s surprising for one so young.”

“I’m not that young,” he bites back.

“You can’t be any older than thirteen,” she says off-handedly.

“I’m _fifteen,”_ he spits back, as if the two years really make that much of a difference. When he was fourteen, he should have become an adult. That’s the way that things work in Mirialan culture. As a child of Mirialan immigrants on Lothal, and then a orphan making his own way on the streets, Ezra didn't know everything about his culture, but he did understand the significance of facial tattoos. More than that, he understood the damning significance of  _not_ having them. 

“But your face is bare,” she says, and a knot twists in Ezra’s stomach. She snaps up her helmet, and reveals her pale green skin, bright green eyes, and polka dotted facial tattoos.

“You’re Mirialan,” he says, and he feels dread pool in his stomach. It’s one thing to have outsiders see his bare face, but it’s a completely different story to have one of his own see it. She understands the implications, and there’s no doubt that she’ll use them against him.

“Do your parents not love you, to leave you as a blankface?” she asks, her voice sickly sweet.

“My parents are dead,” he says. His parents are dead, and he’ll never really be an adult. These are just things that he has had to accept in life. His face will be blank until the day that he dies, and any Mirialan who looks at him will _know_ that he’s alone, that he’s been left an outcast. She touches his face again, and runs vertical lines down his cheeks.

“I can just see how yours would look,” she says, continuing to trace the lines as he tries to pull away, “if you allowed me to train you, I’d tattoo you myself.”

“I’m not in the market for a master right now,” he says, trying to pull as far away from her as possible. She removes her hand and slides gracefully across the room, finally settling into a swiveling chair

“It’s your loss, little blankface,” she says, and Ezra can feel the angry bile filling his throat.

“Don’t call me that!” He shouts, and she sends him a smirk.

“Then let me train you,” she says, “it won't stop being true until your face is finally marked.” Ezra tries not to let her words phase him, because he’s always known that they were true. He’s always just dealt with it, but it’s harder to do when he keeps getting bombarded with the memory.

“My master killed the last one of you,” he says, “so I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

Her smile is almost feral as she says, “The Grand Inquisitor’s death came as some surprise, but it’s given the rest of us new opportunities. There are many hunting you down now, intent on killing you and your master.” She takes _Ezra’s_ lightsaber and points it directly at his throat.

“Does that frighten you, little blankface?” She drawls.

He tries to contain his visceral anger at the name, and instead says, “You aren’t gonna kill me. If you were, you’d have done it already.”

“Kill you?” She says, retracting his blue blade, “I have no plans to kill you.”

A sly smile crosses her face, and she adds, “Yet.” Ezra shivers. She tries to get him to talk, and Ezra refuses of course. And he finds out that they know about Ahsoka. She keeps trying to get him to talk, and Ezra tries his hardest not to give her anything, or at least, not to give her anything of substance.

“Pretty as you are,” she says, and Ezra feels an unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

“What?” He asks frantically.

“I need you _alive_ ,” she says, drawing her lightsaber, “that doesn’t mean in one piece.” She points it at his throat, the way that she did with his earlier, then she tries to get him to rat on Ahsoka. The big, male inquisitor drags Sabine in and shoves her to the ground beside him. Ezra groans internally. That’s not a good sign. They try to force them to contact the other rebels, and Ezra refuses. And then Sabine tries to convince him that Zeb is _dead,_ which is impossible. There’s no way that Zeb could be dead.

A voice comes in through his com and says, “Hello, Spectre-6, come in. Uh, do you read? This is Commander Meiloorun.”

“Answer him,” the inquisitor growls. The conversation goes back and forth, and after Sabine tries to convince the commander that they can handle it, the inquisitor holds his lightsaber to Sabine’s throat. Ezra ends up doubling back and claiming that they need help. He feels like scum for playing into their hands. Then the inquisitors drag them through the halls of the building and towards the exit.

“Once we have the others, we'll dispose of both them both,” she says. The other inquisitor nods his head in agreement.

“Very slowly,” she adds with a sly grin, “maybe I’ll tattoo you with my lightsaber while I’m at it, little blankface.” Sabine sends him a confused look, and Ezra can feel his face burning. In that moment, Ezra is grateful he inherited his mother’s medium green skin tone. If his skin were a lighter green, like his father’s, then his shame would have been written all across his face.

“Eat shit,” he growls, and she just laughs at him. Ezra tries to snap himself out of his searing anger, and to figure out what the kriff “Chin up” could mean. Then, he spots Zeb on the ceiling and everything clicks into place. He makes a coughing noise, and almost has to bump into Sabine for her to catch his drift. Then, they stage their brilliant escape.

Zeb gets off the _Phantom_ the moment that they’ve landed on the _Ghost._ Ezra goes to leave, but Sabine grabs him by the arm.

“What did that mean?” Sabine asks.

“What did what mean?” Ezra asks. A lot of things have happened today and he has no idea which one she’s referring too.

“When the inquisitor called you blankface?” Sabine asks. She says it softly, cautiously, but it still hurts like a slap to the face.

“It means nothing,” he says, sharply. He just wants this conversation to end.

Sabine frowns, and says, concern in her voice, “Please just tell me, Ezra.”

“That’s what it means,” Ezra mumbles.

“Ezra,” Sabine says.

“It ‘s like saying that someone doesn’t exist, or that it doesn’t matter that they do,” Ezra says, angrily. Sabine goes quiet at that. He breaks away from her and tries to get off the damn ship. He doesn’t want to talk about this, now or _ever_ , but she steps in front of him.

“Is it because you don’t have facial tattoos?” She asks. He doesn't want Sabine to know any of this, and he doesn't want to keep talking about it.

“What do you think?” He spits. She looks taken aback, like she never expected that sort of vitriol from him. Then Ezra slips past her, and hurries through the ship, hoping he doesn’t run into anyone on the way to his room. He heaves a sigh of relief when he opens the door and finds that Zeb isn’t there. He just wants to be alone and to try to forget everything that’s happened to today.

He curls up in his bunk, and tries not to cry. Ezra doesn’t know how much later it is when he finally hears a knock at the door. He sighs into the pillow, and considers letting whoever it is keep knocking. He realizes, however, that it’s probably not a good idea and goes to open the door. The door glides open, and he can see Kanan standing on the other side.

“Can I come in?” He asks. Ezra sighs internally, and for a moment, considers slamming the door in Kanan’s face.

He thinks better of it, and just says, “Fine.” Ezra sits down on his bunk and waits for whatever it is Kanan has to say. He doubts if he’ll want to hear it.

“Sabine told us what happened with the inquisitors,” Kanan says.

“Of course she did,” Ezra says angrily. He already knew that, but hearing it said aloud is a whole different story.

“She was just trying to help, Ezra,” Kanan chides. Ezra sighs, and steels himself for yet another conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“Why are you all concerned now?” Ezra asks, “you all knew that I didn’t have tattoos.” While all of the cultural significance surrounding Mirialan facial tattoos might not be common knowledge, the fact that Mirialans generally have facial tattoos is.

“I thought that you didn’t want them,” Kanan admits, and he sounds embarrassed. 

“Why wouldn’t I want them?” Ezra asks. No one _wants_ to be cast out from their culture like that. It’s a fate that’s thrust upon them.

Kanan looks guilty as he says, “I don’t know. I just sort of assumed.” Ezra sighs, and realizes that he’s going to have to make Kanan feel better. It’s not his fault that Ezra’s stuck this way.

“It’s not like I could have gotten them anyway,” he says.

“Why not?” Kanan asks.

“My parents weren’t exactly around to do them,” Ezra drawls. He knows that other people _can_ do it, but he always thought the idea of having anyone but his parents do it felt like a betrayal. It would feel like he was replacing them.

“I could have done them,” Kanan offers, but then he seems to realize what he’s implied and adds on, “or Hera, or Sabine-”

“You’re not my dad,” he growls, and he feels terrible the moment that he does. He didn't mean to be that blunt. 

“No,” Kanan finally says, sounding a bit like he’s trying to smile through a broken bone, “I’m not.” Ezra wonders if he might have made a mistake, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t fix it anymore than Kanan can. His master sighs, and then looks over at Ezra.

“I knew this girl at the temple,” Kanan says, starting a story he no doubt wants to craft into a lesson, “she was Mirialan too. She was terrified about who would finally give her her tattoos.” Kanan hasn’t told him much about the Jedi Order, but he did tell him that children were taken away from their families. Jedi younglings never got to know their biological parents, and this girl must have been left without anyone close enough to tattoo her.

“What happened to her?” Ezra asks. He remembers the holovid of Master Luminara, and knows that Mirialan Jedi _can_ have tattoos, but he can’t imagine who would do them.

“Her master tattooed her when they took her on as a Padawan,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face, “it was actually tradition to do it that way, in the Order.” It takes Ezra a moment to realize what Kanan is doing. He’s trying to give Ezra a traditional out, so that he can get his tattoos without feeling like he’s forsaking his parents.

“Why do you care so much?” Ezra asks cautiously. He knows that Kanan cares. He knows that they all care. He just finds it odd that they would take stock in little cultural traditions that have nothing to do with them.

“I don’t want you to feel like less,” Kanan says, “if having tattoos on your face is important to you, then I want you to have the best ones you can.”

“Kanan,” Ezra says, not really knowing what else to say.

“I know that I’m not your dad,” Kanan says, “and none of us could ever replace your parents… but you’re family, kid. We just want to help.” Ezra feels himself warm on the inside, and grins from ear to ear. He hasn’t felt this wanted since before his parents were taken by the Empire.

“Is that a yes?” Kanan asks cautiously.

“Yes,” Ezra says, “definitely.”

“Okay,” Kanan says, and suddenly a terrified look passes over his face, “how do we do this?” Ezra has already started thinking about all of the preparations that will have to made, and is only half listening.

“Ezra,” Kanan says, slowly, cautiously, “Ezra? _Ghost_ to Ezra?” Ezra starts talking immediately after that, excitement growing with every word,

“We’ll have to get the supplies and go over the designs with Sabine, you know, get an artist’s opinion. Then we’ll want to practice a few times, just to make sure that we get it right.”

“Um,” Kanan says, suddenly looking totally overwhelmed, “are you sure that I can do this? Like, are you sure you want me marking up your face?” Ezra just rolls his eyes.

“You offered,” he says, “no turning back now.” Kanan nods his head, still looking insecure about it, but less so.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to talk himself back into it, “I can do this. I can definitely do this.”

Ezra smiles, and Kanan says, “I promise.” Maybe it’s the promise, maybe it’s the entire situation, or maybe it’s because Ezra has been navigating through an emotional asteroid belt today, but Ezra feels himself hug Kanan, tightly. He wraps his arms around the older man, and then realizes what he’s done.

“I’m sorry,” he says, frantically, and he almost breaks the hug then and there.

“No, don’t be. This is kinda nice,” Kanan says, and Ezra laughs.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he says, but he doesn’t really mean it. Ezra would kind of like to get used to it himself.

 

It takes a few weeks to procure all of the proper supplies, and a while longer for him to design something that he likes, rework it with Sabine, and get to the point where Kanan can adequately draw it on his face. Everyone bands together to help, and it becomes sort of like a mission in and of itself.

 

Sabine even offers to try to make them colored, but Ezra assures her that the standard black is perfectly fine and he’d actually prefer it. Ezra’s still sort of mad at her, but he understands why she did it. He even appreciates that she did it, it’s just that she went over his head with information about him that she shouldn’t have known in the first place. Ezra thinks that he’ll have conflicted feelings about this one for a while. But the day finally comes, and Ezra can't find himself worrying about how he ended up in the situation. He's too excited that he's finally getting his tattoos. 

 

Kanan looks down at the design again, and then at the pool of ink.

“You’re sure that this is the design you want?” He asks.

“Yes,” Ezra says, “I’m sure.”

“Are you _sure_ sure?” Kanan asks, “because once I start this, it’s never coming off.”

“I’m Mirialan, Kanan,” Ezra says, gesturing to his face, “I understand how tattoos work.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some sort of anesthetic?” He asks again.

“No,” Ezra says, “no, I’m not having second thoughts, and no, I don’t want anesthetic. I just want to get this over with so I can get to the fun part.”

“The fun part?” Kanan asks.

“The showing off part,” he says, a smirk curling on his face, “as soon as we’re done with this, I’ll be a man.”  Kanan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say otherwise which Ezra appreciates. He’s not sure that he’ll really feel any more like a man after this, but he’ll know that he’s not an outsider. At the very least, he’ll know that he belongs in his own skin.

“I’m pretty sure that this is going to hurt,” Kanan says cautiously as he gets ready to start. Kanan’s right, of course. It hurts. It hurts _a lot._ Ezra bites his lip to keep from crying out, and ends up yelling anyway.

“Kid, are you alright?” Kanan asks, looking back down and removing the needle.

“Just peachy,” Ezra says. Kanan glares at him.

“Please, just keep going,” Ezra says. His face still feels like it has been stabbed a million times, which it kind of has, but he just wants to keep going. He’s waited years for this, and he’s not going to quit in the middle of it. The door opens, and an angry looking Sabine stands in the doorway with Hera, Zeb, and even Chopper behind her.

Sabine strides in, and says, “I can’t believe you guys started without us.” Hera sits down on the ground next to Ezra and offers him her hand.

“Squeezing something helps with the pain,” Hera says. Ezra sends her a confused look, but then she just flicks her lekku and he understands. Hera got a good percentage of her _head_ tattooed. She understands this more than most other people. He takes her hand and smiles.

“Thanks, Hera,” he says. He looks to Zeb, who’s sitting on the other side of him.

“I ain’t holding your hand, kid,” he says, but it’s fond, almost teasing.

Ezra laughs and says, “Wouldn’t expect you too. You’d probably stink mine up anyways.” Sabine is standing behind where Kanan is kneeling and looking intently between the two of them. Kanan looks behind him and groans.

“Sabine,” he says, “if you criticize me I will stab you with this needle.”

She throws her hands up in the air and laughs, “I just wanted to watch another artist work.”

“Can we please get back to tattooing my face?” Ezra asks. Kanan rolls his eyes, and dips the needle back into the ink. Ezra closes his eyes this time, and squeezes Hera’s hand instead of screaming as the needle slips into his skin. Zeb starts telling a story, something about a mission he was running that went terribly and humorously wrong. Ezra tries to let himself melt into the story and squeeze Hera’s hand, instead of focusing on the searing pain on his face.

He stops feeling the needle stab into his skin, and eventually he hears Kanan say, “Ezra, we’re done.” Ezra opens his eyes, and sees Kanan kneeling in front of him, Sabine leaning over his shoulder. He slowly lets go of Hera’s hand, and then takes a deep breath.

“How does it look?” he asks cautiously.

“Awful,” Kanan says.

“Absolutely terrible,” Sabine agrees, sagely.

“What!” Ezra shouts, a sense of dread creeping up on him. He tries to force his way to his feet, but Hera grabs him by the shoulder and holds him down.

“It looks wonderful, Ezra,” she sends, sending him a real smile. Then she turns around and glares at Kanan and Sabine.

“I dunno,” Zeb says, smiling as he stands up, “you still look like a nerd.” Zeb offers him a hand to help him stand, and Ezra laughs as he pulls him up. His cheeks burn terribly, but he feels better than he ever has before. More confident, and more loved. He starts running towards the door, and then opens it up.

“What are you doing?” Hera calls out, sounding concerned.

“Finding a mirror!” He shouts back. He has to run to the freshener to find one, but getting to the mirror was definitely worth it. He can see himself staring back, and he looks almost the same. His hair is the same shade of blue black, his eyes are the same shade of blue, and every part of his facial structure remains the same. But the interlocking, black diamond pattern running along his cheekbones and below looks striking. He looks like a true Mirialan now, a real adult. His mother’s tattoos were polka dots down her nose and off the edge of her eyes. His father’s were done to resemble a beard, but Ezra’s look a bit like freckles. He absolutely loves them, and he can feel stubborn tears pricking at his eyelashes.

He just stares for a few more minutes, and then he realizes he's probably worrying the rest of the crew. People don’t normally go to stare at themselves in mirrors for extended periods of time. He exits the freshener, and walks through the ship, finally meeting up with everyone again in the common room.

“So,” Kanan asks, sounding nervous, “what do you think?”

“They’re awful,” Ezra dead-pans. Sabine is the first one to get it, and she starts laughing.

“Sabine,” Kanan whispers in anger.

“He’s just getting us back,” Sabine says, and Kanan glares.

“Ezra-”

“I love them, Kanan,” Ezra says in all seriousness, “They’re perfect.” Kanan’s face softens at that, and then he smiles.

“Okay,” Hera says, “as nice as it was to look at those when they’re fresh, we need to get them bandaged up.” Ezra sighs, but he knows that Hera is right. He doesn’t want to get an infection on his face. He sits down beside her, and Hera takes out her first aid kit. Ezra closes his eyes, and lets Hera bandage him up, even though it stings.

She finishes up, and tells him, “You can open your eyes.” Ezra opens them up, and the first thing that he sees is Hera smiling at him. Sabine has already started complimenting Kanan on his artwork, and Chopper beeps indignantly.

“No, Chopper,” Hera says, “this doesn’t mean that you can start harassing Ezra again. Not yet at least.” The droid beeps appreciatively, and Ezra laughs in response. Zeb bumps him on the shoulder, and Ezra turns around, a bit surprised that he’s still sitting on the floor.

“Yeah?” Ezra asks.

“Do you feel like a man now?” Zeb asks. That was the whole purpose of all of this, so that Ezra would stop being an outsider and could start being an adult.

“Yeah,” he says happily, looking around the room, “I do.” His face isn't blank anymore, and he’s certainly not an outsider. He’s not sure if he’s really an adult yet, but he’s got a family now, more than ever could have dreamed of as the child of immigrants and rebels, all alone on the street.

“You’ll always be a kid to me, though,” Zeb says affectionately, and Ezra realizes in some ways it’s true. He’ll always be the youngest of this crew, and in some ways, he’ll always be the lost little boy left alone on Lothal. But he’s part of a family now, and he’s the youngest. He always will be, but that also means that he’ll always have a family. That’s something that he can deal with.

And Ezra says, “I wouldn’t have it any other way." 

**Author's Note:**

> yes indeed-y, i did just lift barriss's tattoo design, but not as foreshadowing or anything, just because i think that they're cute. 
> 
> i might or might not write a little coda to this where ahsoka sees him for the first time afterward and has a miniature heart-attack.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mirialan Ezra](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6550822) by [birdsongblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsongblue/pseuds/birdsongblue)




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